


fiercely to fool

by gothyringwald



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bottom Billy Hargrove, Breaking Up & Making Up, Enemies With Benefits, Explicit Sexual Content, Hate Sex, Light Angst, M/M, POV Billy Hargrove, Pining, Sexist Language, slight power imbalance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:56:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28307145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gothyringwald/pseuds/gothyringwald
Summary: The first time it happens is out at the quarry. The second time is at one of Vicki’s parties, in the bathroom. It goes on: at parties, at the quarry, in their cars. It’s always quick and dirty.And Billy’s fine with that. He’s fine with being Steve Harrington’s dirty little secret. Because every time Steve says it’s going to be the last and it never is.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Comments: 24
Kudos: 171
Collections: Harringrove Holiday Exchange 2020





	fiercely to fool

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SheWritesDirty](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SheWritesDirty/gifts).



> Notes: for shewritesdirty - I think Steve ended up being more of an asshole than Billy, sorry! (So, yeah, I guess that's a warning that Steve is kind of an asshole in this fic?) And this is as close to hate sex as I can manage XD But I hope you like it!!!
> 
> ETA: now that this is revealed, for my regular readers, this is different than my usual (mostly fluffy) fare
> 
> Billy is over 18

“We can’t keep doing this,” Steve pants against Billy’s mouth.

“No.”

“It’s fucked up.”

“Uh-huh.”

A groan and then, “I don’t even _like_ you.”

“Feeling’s entirely mutual.”

“This is the last time.”

“The last time,” Billy says, and then he falls to his knees.

—

The first time it happens is out at the quarry. Billy feels restless, caged in by the four walls of his room, so he hops in the Camaro and tools around Hawkins’ backstreets, metal blasting from the radio.

But, like everything in Hawkins, it gets boring after a while and he stops by the quarry, nothing better to do.

When he pulls in, he isn’t surprised to find Steve out here, too, though maybe he should be. Steve’s leaning against his car, head tilted back, exposing the long line of his neck to the moonlight.

Billy’s blood heats, and he saunters over, boots kicking up gravel with every step. “Well, well, well,” he says, “what’s King Steve doing out here? Thought you’d be hanging out with your children.”

Steve tenses, eyes sliding to Billy cautiously. “What do you want, Hargrove?”

“Easy”—Billy spreads his hands—“just want to bum a smoke.” He searches Steve’s skin for any remnants of their fight, but it’s been months so of course the bruises are long gone. Pity. Blue looks good on him.

Steve sighs, but he digs into his jacket and brings out a pack of cigarettes, handing it over to Billy. “There’s only a few left, take ‘em.”

Their fingers brush as Billy takes the pack; electricity skitters up his arm. He taps a cigarette out, then tucks the pack into his own jacket. He lights up, nicotine buzzing in his veins as he takes the first drag.

“Well, you’ve got your cigarette,” Steve says, “so you can fuck off, now.”

Billy licks his lips. “Nah, don’t think I will.”

Steve huffs, breath misting. “Whatever,” he murmurs, but he doesn’t leave.

They stand in silence, not even a passing car or a nightbird anywhere. Billy crushes his cigarette and pushes off of the car; Steve sags in relief but he tenses again when Billy doesn’t walk away, only crowds him against the car.

“What are you doing?”

Billy fists his hand in Steve’s hair, pulling it, dragging Steve’s head down. “Wanna see if I left a scar when I smashed that plate over your head.”

“You’re a dick.” Steve shoves at Billy, hard enough Billy stumbles back.

Billy laughs, grinning with his tongue between his teeth. He settles a hand on his hip and juts his chin at Steve. “You know, I might’ve got a little carried away in our fight.”

“No shit.”

“Yeah, well…” The memory of that night surges up, the taste of blood on Billy’s teeth, knuckles aching with the phantom impact of Steve’s face against them. Steve beneath him and how good it had felt to let go like that, even if it wasn’t Steve he was really seeing. He swallows. “How about you take a swing at me? Even the score.”

Steve’s eyes flit over his face, then settle somewhere over Billy’s shoulder. “I’m not looking for a rematch.”

“You sure?”

Steve nods.

A sly grin tilts Billy’s lips. He crowds in closer, thigh to thigh. “I could make it up to you another way.”

“You can fuck off,” Steve says, the faintest hint of colour in his cheeks, “that would make my night.”

“Nah, not my style.” Billy runs his tongue along his bottom lip. “And I was thinking something more…personal.”

Steve’s breathing speeds up; his eyes are dark. “Personal how?”

“Personal any way you want.” Billy shifts so he can press one of his thighs between Steve’s. When Steve’s breaths come faster still, and he swallows thickly, Billy slides his hand between them, cupping Steve through his jeans.

“Fuck.” Steve’s eyes flutter shut; he pushes up into Billy’s touch. “Yeah…”

Billy grins and slides his hand past Steve’s waistband.

After, cheeks flushed and hair mussed, Steve says, “You can’t tell anyone.”

“Think _I_ want anyone to know?”

Steve presses his lips together. He runs a hand over his face, then, seeming to remember where his hand has just been, sticks it in his pocket. “We can’t…we can’t do this again, OK? It was just one time. It didn’t mean anything.”

“Whatever you say, pretty boy,” Billy says, and walks away.

—

After the quarry, Billy watches Steve watching him at school, and around town. Those big dark eyes drawn to Billy’s hands—Billy running his finger along the length of his pen in English class, curling his fist around a wrench in shop—so fucking obvious, even if he probably thinks he’s being subtle.

It thrills through Billy, and he takes full advantage of it. Takes it further. Makes Steve follow his hands to his mouth as he licks sauce from his fingers at lunch or chews on his pen.

Watches and waits and then, yeah, there it is. He’s got Steve hooked.

(Steve has him hooked, too, though Billy doesn’t want to admit it, doesn’t want to admit he can’t stop thinking about how Steve looked when he came, the feel of him in his hand or the way he bit his lips.)

Billy gives it a few more days, watching Steve watching him, until he reels him in.

—

The next time, it’s Billy on his knees, hands curled tight around Steve’s hips. The cold of Vicki’s bathroom tiles bleeding through denim. The dull thud of music filters through the wall and someone bangs on the door, slurring, “Anyone in there?”

But Steve calls out, “It’s occupied,” his hand sunk deep in Billy’s hair. Pulling Billy further onto his cock, almost choking him, but Billy fucking revels in it.

Steve is heavy on his tongue, his hips hot and sharp under Billy’s palms. Wiry hair brushes Billy’s nose and saliva builds in his mouth, drips down his chin. The music is still playing outside, but Billy only cares about the soft soft sounds Steve is trying not to make. He presses his tongue just so electing a hiss and Steve’s fingers tighten in his hair and then moments later Steve’s hips stutter.

When Steve comes, he’s silent, lip bitten between perfect white teeth, head tilted back. His cock pulses in Billy’s mouth, and Billy lets him ride it out before he pulls off and tilts to his feet.

Billy leans around Steve to spit into the sink, trapping Steve between his hips and the cabinet behind him. When he leans back, Steve is looking at Billy with a mix of disgust and desire.

It curls around Billy’s spine, hot and cold by turns. Billy takes Steve’s hand, runs his tongue along the palm, not missing the slow bob of Steve’s Adam’s apple, or the way his gaze dips. With a rush of heat, Billy unzips his jeans, guides Steve’s hand into his briefs.

Steve jerks him off with quick flicks of his wrist; the first time he’d done this, he’d kept his eyes fixed somewhere beyond Billy’s shoulder. He still doesn’t look at Billy, but this time he mouths along Billy’s jaw, up to his ear. Whispers things like, “I hate you,” and “You’re such an asshole,” as his hand moves over Billy’s dick.

“Shit,” Billy says, “keep talking dirty like that, pretty boy, and I’m gonna shoot my load, right now.” It’s only a few seconds before he does, spilling over Steve’s hand, hips stuttering and white-hot pleasure shooting down his spine.

Steve wipes his hand off on some tissues. “I can’t believe you got off on me saying _that_.”

Billy waggles his brows.

“You’re sick.”

Billy swallows but he winks and says, “I know,” the taste of Steve lingering in the back of his throat.

—

It goes on. They hook up at parties, at the quarry, in their cars. Once, even, in the deserted locker rooms after practice. Never at their houses. Always quick and dirty.

And Billy’s fine with that. He’s fine with being Steve Harrington’s dirty little secret. Because every time Steve says it’s going to be the last and it never is.

—

The first time they kiss, the first time Billy kisses Steve, he’s not thinking how kissing is too intimate, too revealing. All he’s thinking is how pink Steve’s lips are, shining with saliva and Billy’s come, and how badly Billy wants his mouth to be on Steve’s.

So, he sinks his fingers into Steve’s hair and pulls him close. Biting those stupid, pretty lips, pushing his tongue into Steve’s mouth. It’s fucking heady.

The real kicker, though, is the way Billy’s stomach swoops when Steve kisses back. —

It’s just sex, though. Steve is just like all the straight boys in Cali who only wanted to get their rocks off and Billy isn’t about to say no to more sex with Steve Harrington. If he feels all twisted up inside for reasons he doesn’t want to examine too closely, well, no one needs to know.

—

Steve is making out with Kimberly, kissing her in a way he doesn’t kiss Billy. Deep and hot, sure, but gentle, too. Their kisses are never gentle. They’re not _dating_ , after all, they’re just fucking. But Steve’s been dating more since that night at the quarry. Billy doesn’t know if it means Steve is just making a show, putting on an act he hopes no one can see through, to make it safer for he and Billy to get together. Or if it means Steve doesn’t care about Billy at all.

And then Steve slides his hand around, cupping Kimberly’s ass, and Billy crushes his solo cup in his hand, choking down a scream. The same way he had to last week when he saw Steve at the movies with Claire, his hand creeping its way up her thigh. Or at school flirting with every girl in senior year and the juniors, too. (Some of the guys, too, but Billy’s not sure Steve even knows he’s doing that).

It fucking sucks because Billy doesn’t _care_ , not about Steve Harrington, but fuck if seeing Steve out on dates doesn’t make Billy want to punch something. Tear the entire stupid town apart.

Kimberly pulls away from Steve, giggling, running a finger down his chest.

Jealousy rises up like so much bile and Billy swipes Tommy H’s beer from him, chugging it down before he can even protest.

Billy catches Steve’s eye from across the party, juts his chin up the stairs. Steve looks away.

Billy drinks more beer, dances with whichever girl is closest, but Steve still doesn’t look. In the end, Billy picks a fight with Bryan Something-or-other, but the sound of his fist meeting flesh and the taste of blood in his mouth isn’t what he wanted.

—

“You know I’m not,” Steve says one time, “that this isn’t,” and neither of the sentences are finished but Billy can fill in the blanks just fine.

The words twist in Billy’s chest, but he pushes them down until they’re only a dull ache in his gut. He takes a long drag of his cigarette and blows the smoke in Steve’s face. “Never thought it was, pretty boy,” he says.

—

Billy lies awake at night, thinking how he hates Steve Harrington so damn much, but, safe under the cover of darkness, he also thinks how he never wants this thing between them to end.

—

“That was the last time,” Steve says, tucking his dick away, and doing up his jeans. His face is flushed and his lips are swollen and there’s a hickey peeking out of the collar of his shirt.

“Sure,” Billy says around his newly lit cigarette.

Steve stops, shoulders going taut. There’s fire in his eyes when he turns to Billy. “I mean it this time, Billy. It’s fucked up.” He waves a hand between them. “ _We’re_ fucked up.”

“Well, good luck getting better head from someone else.” Billy runs his tongue along his bottom lip.

The flame still flickers in Steve’s eyes as he leans in close to whisper, “You were a lousy lay, Hargrove,” and then he straightens up and walks off.

A shiver runs down Billy’s spine. He calls out, “You’ll be back,” but Steve doesn’t answer. He takes a drag of his cigarette, blows out the smoke. Steve’s words echo in his ears. Steve was just fucking with him—Billy gives damn good head—but it curdles in his stomach all the same. He grits his teeth and whispers, “You’ll be back.”

—

Steve doesn’t come back.

—

It’s two weeks of Billy watching Steve not looking at him at school and around town. Two weeks of Billy _not_ missing the feel of Steve’s hands sliding under his shirt, or the way their mouths fit together, or the noises he makes when he comes.

Steve is always with Kimberly or Claire or Stacy or some other whore. It twists in Billy’s gut, no matter how much he tries to tell himself he doesn’t care. Steve was just a stupid straight boy who wanted to get off however he could. Steve was just a _fuck_.

So when Billy pulls Steve into the janitor’s closet, and pushes Steve against the shelves, he’s doing it to prove a point, proving to Steve he’s the best lay he’ll ever have. That’s all.

“What are you doing, Hargrove?” Steve’s hands are at Billy’s waist, pulling him closer, despite the tone of his voice. “I told you this was over.”

“Yeah, and I told you you’d be back.”

Steve’s hands still and his brows raise. “You pulled me in here.” He snorts. “You’re the one who can’t stay away from me.”

The words hit Billy hard because, fuck, they’re true. He’s been chasing after Steve since that night at the quarry. Maybe even before that.

A sly grin tilts Steve’s lips. “Shit, you can’t get enough of me, can you?” He crowds Billy against the opposite wall and, shit, this wasn’t what was meant to happen. “You’re pathetic, so desperate for me, for my dick.”

“You’re the pathetic one,” Billy says, shoving at Steve. “Just some straight boy desperate to get laid.”

“Is that what you think?” Steve snorts. “Dude, there are easier ways to get laid. Way easier.”

“So, you’re saying you want me then?”

“No, I’m saying I like seeing you on your knees.” Steve pushes forward, arms either side of Billy’s head. “Because you think you’re such a badass but you’re just a desperate loser.” 

Billy snorts, even as his pulse leaps. “If anyone’s a loser here, Harrington, it ain’t me.” 

“You sure about that?” 

Billy nods. 

Steve leans close, breath skimming Billy’s jaw, and whispers, “Well, I’m sure it’s you.”

Fire kindles in Billy’s blood. How fucking dare Steve talk to him like this. But what’s worse is how it’s turning Billy on. Arousal arrows to his groin at the mere touch of Steve’s hands to his shoulders and, fuck, he should punch Steve but he only lets him push him to his knees.

“Good boy,” Steve says, still smiling that smug smile.

Billy reaches into his jeans and wipes the smile from Steve’s face.

He lets Steve fuck his mouth the way he always does, and yeah, Billy can admit that he’s missed this. But, after, when Steve does up his jeans and makes no move to touch Billy, Billy says, “You gonna sort me out?”

Steve smirks, dark eyes twinkling. “Nope.”

“C’mon,” Billy says, one hand still curled over Steve’s hip, “you can’t leave me like this,” and he doesn’t care how desperate he sounds because he _is_. His dick is straining against his jeans, and there’s a wet spot in his briefs. He rolls his hips up against the pressure of Steve’s foot on him—it’s been resting there, tantalising, the entire time—but it’s not enough.

“Can’t I?”

“I’ve gotta go to class.”

Steve looks down to his foot resting on Billy’s tented jeans, presses harder. “Deal with it yourself.”

Billy growls.

Steve still has one hand resting in Billy’s hair. He tightens his fingers again, tilting Billy’s head back. “My parents are asleep by eleven. The back door will be open.” He drops his hand and walks away.

“Harrington,” Billy says, voice wrecked.

“What?” Steve pauses, turning back.

Billy runs his tongue over his bottom lip, doesn’t miss the way Steve’s glassy eyes track the movement. “Maybe I’m busy tonight.”

“Then get un-busy,” Steve says, and steps out into the hall.

—

The door is open, like Steve had said it would be. Billy had considered not showing up for all of two seconds, but Steve was right. He’s pathetic, and he can’t get enough of Steve. But tonight he’s going to make damn sure that Steve can’t get enough of him, either.

Steve is waiting for Billy, sitting on a couch in the room that opens onto the backyard. A den. Billy’s never been to Steve’s before—he already knew where he lived, of course he did in a town like this, but Steve had never invited Billy over.

And Billy never asked. It was better to keep it to backseats and empty classrooms. He’s not sure why Steve asked him over tonight, though, and he doesn’t like the uncertainty. How it, like everything, leaves him on the back foot with Steve.

Billy doesn’t say anything as he slides the door closed behind him, and he hates how his traitorous stomach flips and his heart beats hard and something fucking _flutters_ in his chest. This isn’t… Steve is just a fuck. Billy’s just a fuck. That’s all.

Steve looks up from beneath the long sweep of his lashes. His eyes are dark in the low light. “Why are you here, Billy?”

Billy arches a brow. “Thought I was invited.”

Steve shakes his head and looks off to the side. He stands, looks like he’s going to say something, but he only jerks his head and turns around, beckoning Billy to follow him. He walks out without saying a word and it pisses Billy off, but what’s worse is that Billy just follows. Like a dog at his heels.

Billy clenches his hands by his sides as he follows Steve through his stupid, big house, doesn’t say a word because he thinks if he speaks right now, he’ll give it all away.

They pause by a door near the end of a hall; Steve looks at Billy and Billy can’t read his face, and then he turns away and opens the door and steps inside. Billy follows. Again.

He doesn’t get a chance to look properly at Steve’s room—glimpses plaid walls and a rumpled bed bathed in moonlight—before Steve shoves him against the door. Not hard, probably doesn’t want to make noise, but _firm_.

Steve has one hand low on Billy’s jaw, almost around his neck, tilting Billy’s face up. Once again, it looks like he’s going to say something, and Billy doesn’t know why he’s silent—why Billy himself is silent—but then he kisses Billy. Hard and bruising. Sucking Billy’s bottom lip, teeth grazing soft flesh.

“Why do you keep coming back?” Steve asks.

“Why do you?”

Steve doesn’t answer, just pushes Billy harder into the door, fisting a hand in his hair and slotting a thigh between Billy’s legs. There’s fire in his eyes and his voice is low when he says, “Don’t you think you’ve apologised enough?”

And _that_ throws Billy for a loop. “Huh?”

“That’s what you’re doing, right?” Steve licks his lips. “Making up for beating the shit out of me.”

Billy frowns at that but then he remembers the first time at the quarry. How he’d told Steve it was Billy’s way of paying him back for wailing on him. He can’t believe Steve remembers, that he thinks that’s what Billy’s been doing this whole time. He shoves at Steve’s shoulders and says, “Harrington, I ain’t _that_ sorry,” and when the backs of Steve’s knees hit the bed and he sits, Billy straddles him.

“Then why—” Steve’s face clears and that smug grin spreads over his pretty, cocksucking lips. “Oh. You really do just want this.” He runs his hands along Billy’s thighs, reaches back and grabs Billy’s ass. Pulls Billy close. Leans in, breath hot on Billy’s ear. “You really are desperate for my dick.”

“Shut up,” Billy says, rocking down, shifting until his ass is pressed against the swell of Steve’s cock. They’ve never…he’s never…but fuck, he’s going to. Going to let Steve— “You got a rubber?”

“Uh, yeah,” Steve says, eyes going impossibly darker, “top drawer,” gesturing behind him to his night stand.

Billy grins down at him, hopes it looks steadier than he feels, and then clambers across Steve to get to the drawer. He grabs a rubber and some lube he’s surprised, but pleased, to find and throws them at Steve.

After that it’s hands scrabbling at belts and flies, it’s not waiting long enough to get their clothes off before Steve is pulling Billy back into his lap, pressing his slick fingers inside Billy. It’s Billy pushing Steve’s hand away and sinking down onto Steve’s cock, the stretch of it burning a little because he was maybe too eager, but it doesn’t feel like he thought it would either.

It takes his breath away, lights him on fire. He rises up, sinks down, over and over, all the while Steve’s fingernails biting into his hips.

And then Steve flips them over, and Billy’s legs are around his waist, and Steve’s pinning his hands down and, fuck, it’s so much better like this. Deeper and harder.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” Steve says, low and hot in Billy’s ear, and, “This shouldn’t feel so good,” as he holds Billy down and fucks him.

Billy makes a small, formless noise, wishes he had some bratty comeback but Steve snaps his hips and his vision sparkles and the breath is punched from his lungs. It’s only a few more moments—that feel, simultaneously, like eternity and no time at all—before Billy comes. Spilling hot between them. It’s the best fucking orgasm of his life.

Steve follows moments later, pressed deep inside Billy, teeth sunk into Billy’s shoulder, but he rolls off of Billy before he’s even stopped shaking.

He flicks the condom into a waste basket, then settles against the headboard. Billy pushes himself up, stomach swooping at the ache inside him, and runs a hand through his hair.

The silence is almost deafening; Billy is about to haul himself out of the bed when Steve says, “Why are you really doing this, Billy?”

Billy looks across at Steve, letting his gaze drift down his neck, his chest, his stomach. The sheen of sweat on his skin, the line of hair leading down below the sheet twisted around his hips. “Because I want to.”

Steve huffs, like he’s not satisfied with the answer, but he doesn’t say anything else. He lights two cigarettes, hands one to Billy.

Billy takes it, inhales. “Why are you?”

Steve shrugs a shoulder. “It feels good.” He blows out a plume of smoke. “I don’t know why it feels so good.” He lets his head fall back.

Billy eyes the new hickeys arrowing down Steve’s throat. “You’re saying I’m not a lousy lay, after all?”

“Maybe not.” Steve licks his lips. He crushes the cigarette, only half-finished and folds his arms over his stomach. “It’s fucked up, though. _I’m_ fucked up.”

“I know.”

“Thanks.”

“Any time.” Billy winks, but Steve ignores it. Silence falls over them and Billy should leave, or at least keep his mouth shut. Keep pretending he doesn’t care at all. But something makes him say, “You know, I’m pretty fucked up, too.” He glances at Steve. “Probably what makes this so hot.”

“Maybe.”

“Well, I’m good with fucked up.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Fucked up can be fun.”

Steve’s brows raise. Whether it’s that Billy’s said something he thinks is weird or at his admission at all, Billy doesn’t know. He gives Billy a careful look, chewing on his lip. The silence is fucking awful. But eventually, Steve’s lips twitch, the light catching in his eyes almost making them looking like they’re sparkling, and he says, “Yeah, I guess it can be.”

—

“Fuck, that’s good,” Steve pants into Billy’s mouth, “don’t stop.”

“Wasn’t planning on it.”

“Shit— _Oh_.”

And then there are only shuddering breaths and soft moans.

“So,” Billy says, after, “that the last time?”

Steve stares at Billy for long moments, and Billy’s stomach sinks. But then Steve drags Billy into a crushing kiss, murmuring, “Maybe not,” against his lips and Billy grins.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from sometimes I am alive because with by ee cummings
> 
> Please let me know if there are any tags I should add - this is different than my usual fare!


End file.
